


Promises

by peachbellini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 20:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachbellini/pseuds/peachbellini
Summary: The worst thing, Albus thinks, about living with Malfoy the Unanxious in the aftermath of… whatever their fourth year was, is his increasing fondness for emotional warfare.(Pre-slash, set in their 5th year.)





	Promises

“So, will you come?”

The worst thing, Albus thinks, about living with Malfoy the Unanxious in the aftermath of… whatever their fourth year was, is his increasing fondness for emotional warfare.

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

Albus has his face half buried in his trunk, aimlessly swiping past socks and t-shirts of dubious cleanliness, but Scorpius keeps appearing in his eye-line anyway, with his infuriatingly eager smile and his jumper with the slightly too short sleeves. Albus sits back on his knees, huffing a breath out and bracing his hands on the edge of the trunk, grateful for the dig of the wood into his palms. 

“It’s just, it’s my first match, Albus. Big day. BIG day.”

“And your point is?” 

Scorpius had lain his Quidditch kit out on his bed the moment he’d woken that morning. Hair still pillow fussed and pyjama top unbuttoned at the neck. Albus hadn’t failed to notice the way Scorpius’ eyes had been darting back to the display throughout the conversation. As if he was still worried it might all be a dream. As if Flint was going to come barging into the room to point, laugh, and tell him it had been a joke all along. 

Albus knows Scorpius feels like that, because if it were him? Well. He would too. 

“My point…” Scorpius falters, perching on the edge of the bed, his knee inches from Albus’ chin. “My point is that you don’t much like Quidditch, Albus. You’ve not been to any of my practice sessions…”

“Was I supposed to?” 

Scorpius just looks at him. 

“It would’ve been nice, Albus.”

Albus can think of a lot of things he’d call nice. His Dad’s soup, Christmas at the Weasley’s, the moment when you first slip into the covers after you’ve cast a warming charm… But watching Scorpius practice?

Well. 

“Sorry?” He tries, because he’s learnt it goes a long way with Scorpius. A little admission of fault, a smidgen of regret…

Scorpius snorts, tapping his hands twice on his thighs before he stands up, adjusting his robes around him, pulled in tight. 

“What a heartfelt apology. I truly am blessed.”

“You’re not mad are you?” Albus sighs, abandoning his search for the perfect pair of socks and pulling out the first his hand lands on. They’ve a hole in the toe and he’s fairly certain their James’, but they’ll do the job.

“No, not really.” Scorpius admits, already back to hovering over his kit, brushing imaginary lint of the front of his jersey. He levels a finger at Albus, smile creeping into his cheeks, lighting up his eyes. “But I will be if you’re not there this afternoon.”

“Should I swear an unbreakable vow, or will a pinky promise do?” Albus returns, trying to lean casually against the bed post, crossing his arms. It’s something he’s trying now. Cool, confident, Albus who doesn’t do things like trip over his feet in the common room. Minimal effort, maximum effect. 

Scorpius sees right through it, of course.

“A pinky promise…” Scorpius grins. “…will suffice.”

He approaches with a little finger extended, catching Albus’ ankle in the process and entirely disrupting the suave scene he’d had in his head. 

Scorpius snorts, then nods at Albus’ now flailing hands.

“Well?” 

Albus sighs, brings their little fingers together. Tries not to think about the whisper of breath he can feel on his face when they’re this close. Tries not to think of how Scorpius has him crowded a little against the bedpost.

Tries not to think of the tingle he feels whenever they touch these days. 

Because the new picture Albus has of them in his head? He thinks it might be a little different to the one Scorpius has.

“So, will you come?”

Albus snaps out of his reverie, ignoring the slightly curious look Scorpius is throwing in his direction. A smile. Soft and, he hopes, reassuring. 

“Of course.”

 

***

 

The morning passes uneventfully. Albus encourages Scorpius to eat more porridge and Rose clucks at them as she passes their table, shaking her head like she knows something they don’t. One by one the members of the Slytherin team take their leave, their friends waving them off as if they were going to war, not down to the Quidditch pitch. 

Albus thinks they all take it far too seriously, if he’s honest.

When Scorpius eventually rises from the table it’s without the refined grace the other players had displayed. He knocks over a pot of jam and nearly trips over a wayward black cat, which hisses loudly before bolting from the room. 

If Malfoys could pale any further, Albus thinks Scorpius would.

“Fantastic.” He mutters. “An excellent omen for my day. Perhaps I should just…”

“Nope.” Albus smiles, grabbing at Scorpius’ arm in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Go and put your kit on Scorpius.”

“Right.” He nods, body shaking vigourously. “Right.”

Albus watches Scorpius’ retreating figure with a smile, and his breath only hitches a little when his friend looks back. 

 

***

 

The Quidditch stands are cold and wet, and Albus wishes (not for the first time) that he was a little better at water repelling spells. 

He’s managed to keep his hair dry, and his robes seem to be holding out, but there’s no hope for his shoes. He can feel the water level rising up his foot, and each time he shifts he hears a squelch.

“Thought I’d find you here. Is that a Quidditch jersey I see under there?”

Albus flushes as his brother takes the seat next to him, flashes of red in a sea of green. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought you might need someone to explain the rules to you, mate.”

James’ grin is infuriating and infectious all at the same time, and Albus does his best to return it, wondering if his facial expression has landed at constipated or confused, and which is worse. 

“Strangely enough I do know the rules, James. Might be something to do with it being all you ever t-.”

He’s cut off by the blaring fanfare erupting from the magically amplified speakers, drawing out even his thoughts. 

“Are. You. Ready?!?” The announcer (a Gryffindor from his brother’s year with a grand collection of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes paraphernalia) demands, as the teams begin to emerge from the tunnel leading to the changing rooms. “The first match of the season is FINALLY here, and Hufflepuff seem more than ready to ravage the fine fellows from the Slytherin team, with their captain…”

But Albus doesn’t hear anymore. His eyes are fixed on the blur of green and silver with a shock of blonde hair zipping around the perimeter of the pitch, and they don’t falter until well after the snitch is caught.

 

***

 

Albus’ ears are still ringing when Scorpius finally appears in their dormitory. The small room seems even quieter than usual in comparison to the roar of the stadium, and when he finally speaks the volume of his own voice surprises him. 

“You were brilliant!” 

It’s a squeak, if he’s honest. A very uncouth sound for a cool and casual 16 year old. 

“You thought so?”

Scorpius smile manages to be shy and blazing all at once, and it takes Albus a moment to recover.

“Yes, and so did James!”

“James? Your brother?”

“Do you know another James?”

“No.” Scorpius smiles, setting down his kit bag next to his bed. “I suppose I don’t.”

His hair is wet - from the showers or the rain Albus can’t tell - and he seems to hold himself taller than he had that morning. 

“I mean it though.” Albus grins, stepping forward to meet Scorpius, going a step further than he might’ve done without the adrenaline of the match coursing through his veins. “Really outstanding. Best Quidditch I’ve ever seen.”

Scorpius snorts.

“ _Only_ Quidditch you’ve ever seen.”

“Yes,” Albus smiles “that too.”

A crack of lightning snaps outside, illuminating them both in a watery glow. Albus swallows.

“Thank you for coming today, Albus.” Scorpius says, a hand coming up to squeeze his friend’s upper arm, strong fingers callused from his broom. His eyes are bright, and his cheeks a little flushed. “It meant a lot to me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but doesn’t get past the first syllable before the door to their room is flung open, their dorm mates flying in, Slytherin Quidditch chants filling the room like a symphony.

The moment is broken, but Albus doesn’t mind.

The spot on his arm where Scorpius’ fingers gripped is still warm. 

And it feels like a promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into anything HP, which is ridiculous really, but I've seen Cursed Child twice in the space of a week and couldn't hold out any longer on these ridiculous teenagers.


End file.
